I can transform from SuperMom, making cartoon-shaped pancakes, into one I truly do not want to be like in any way whatsoever within a 3 minute time span. Why doesn’t it work vice versa? I never realized the roller coaster ride of being a mom would occur not only every day, but multiple times throughout that day. The top-o-the-peak, “Oh my goodness! What beautiful children we have been blessed with!” swooping down to the valley of, “I am going to put you outside, yes, without supervision, and leave you there. I am trying to stop myself from doing just that.”
Mommy needs prayer time. Instead of saying over and over to myself, “I’m gonna lose it…I’m gonna lose it…I’m really gonna lose it” and picturing myself on the 10 o’clock news, I choose prayer. This is not an easy task. There are so many times I catch myself not wanting help. How crazy is that? I know I need help. I even know the One Who can give the most and best help you could ever find. I shake my head as I still battle the “I can to this my way’s.” The cool thing is: God understands. He made me. (I’m sure He made you too, so I hope this is helpful.) He walks me through this process with unbelievable mercy.
This whole “dying-to-the-flesh” thing gets clearer to me everyday. I don’t think that’s something you get when you’re skipping off to Jell-O and juice at Vacation Bible School. In 1 Corinthians 15:31, Paul says, “I die daily.” As it turns out, this is a different process than feeling like you’re dying daily. There are days in this journey of motherhood I pray for Jesus to descend. It’s hard. But I have to remember there is wisdom to be gained (James 1:5) and prayers that are answered if we only take the time to ask (1 John 3:22). I’m gonna try my best today to change the audio playing over and over in my head in those not-so-SuperMom moments…like walking into the bathroom to find ½ a roll of shredded toilet paper scattered about and a close-to-full package of Pull-Ups in poopy toilet water…I did not pray in this moment for those of you wondering. I screamed (remember when we said we wouldn’t be that mom?), I threw the nearest object (which my daughter saw=more momguilt), and I sat on the edge of the tub (that thing really needs to be scrubbed) and cried (mess-up-your-mascara-and-don’t-care-cryin’). I’m just trying to keep it real. No amount of Martha Stewart’s peanut butter and jelly bars can make this situation a good one. Prayer. Next time=prayer.